Bitter Sun
by spring.stranger
Summary: A young La Push resident decides to chronicle her, "last days of humanity", due to her resentment of one day being a shape-shifter. Along the way, odd instances such as ghosts, werecats, and voodoo curses begin to affect the people of La Push and Forks.
1. Let me tell you a story

**A/N:** This is an experiment, while I am extremely against anything relating to Twilight, I was almost forced to read the entire series and then I gorged on myself on some of Gabriel García Márquez's short stories which made want to write again. No flames, please, this story is AU, which explains the female shapeshifters, and takes place almost twelve years after the last book.

**Genre**: Magic Realism/Slice of Life

**Rating:** Teen and a light Mature for language.

**Bitter Sun - 1. **_"Let me tell you a story."_

_Let me tell you a story._

_Many years ago, this land belonged to my father's people. Miles and miles of earth that stretched from South America, all the way to Canada. They had different names – Oglala Sioux, Duwamish, Lumbee, Navajo, Kiowa, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Cherokee – different gods – White Buffalo Calf Woman, Wakan Tanka, Itzamna, Spider Grandmother, Hustahli – different legends and heroes – Nata'aska, Changing Woman, Kana'ti. They are different, and yet the same._

_Then Columbus came and the death knell of the Taíno was called, their ghosts lost forever and the freedom of my mother's ancestors sacrificed for the use of labor. They were the Yoruba, the Igbo, and the Zulu, but they soon lost their titles, all traded for rum and sugar. Their real names traded in for Christian names like "Charles" or "Veronica". Warriors and priestesses became field hands and unwilling concubines._

_The white man prospered. "Manifest Destiny!" he cried and so he continued to push and push and push until he finally got what he wanted; my father's people in reservations and my mother's people in physical, then later on, mental bondage. Old West serials and minstrel shows immortalized stereotypes that would plague both sides for generations. The romances of the noble Indian princesses and their Cowboy lovers and the adventures of Uncle Tom and his love for his masters were just one of the few character tropes and clichés that arose from this era._

_It would take more than three hundred years before both ethnicities were even considered human._

_My parents met at a bonfire party, my mother not really wanting to go. It was her sister's idea, my aunt. "Last day of College! ", she insisted. My father was a La Push resident, and a high school dropout who instead, earned his G.E.D and decided to go to a community college in the next town outside of Forks._

_I can't say if it was love at first sight, in fact, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. My dad claimed he tricked my mother into giving him her number, my mom argued that it was her that wrangled his number away, not the other around._

_Either way, someone's phone number was haggled off._

_I was born in Twin Peaks, Washington on February 20th, 2002. They named me Marisol, Marisol Judith Drinkwater. My parents were different. Overlooking the fact that they were, in fact, an interracial couple, they were never really traditional parents. My mom claimed to see spirits and played with tarot cards in her time away from teaching. My dad had this obsession with wolves and knew everything about them—hunting skills, food sources, reproduction techniques. He was crazy about them, he used to joke that he was part wolf, even though there's some truth to that. Unfortunately, my parents died a few months ago, and my brothers are still minors so they couldn't take care of me. My mother's sister is always travelling with her own family; she hardly visits for Christmas, anymore._

_So, it was inevitable, I had to move to La Push. In La Push, my dad is…well, dad was disowned by his side of family for leaving the rez. I was really little, too little to remember, but when he finally decided to leave La Push for Seattle, my brother told me that his mom, my nenah, told him to never come back and, "keep those half-breeds and your black, stuck up, wife, away from my house!", and so, he did._

_She died a week after that._

_On La Push, no one lives in teepees and they don't wear buckskins or beads or feathers in their hair, unless it's a powwow. They don't worship, "pagan, monkey gods", or some stupid, racist, bullshit that some of the more ignorant white kids from Forks like to claim. My family is Catholic._

_Alcoholism is prevalent here, especially during the bonfires. I can hear them. The sons and daughters of church members and relatives, sloshing and carrying on at night, bragging about some sexual encounter that might've never happened; the smell of vomit and piss in the air was so strong during the mornings that after smelling that, I fainted._

_La Push is not a den of useless drunks or whores, nor is it a justified example of why Native Americans should be in reservations. No, there are laborers, and fishermen, and teachers and others who really just want to have a better life in this hell hole. The elders are a testament to that._

_The most mysterious and extremely dangerous aspect of living in La Push, is of course, the packs. Or packs, since there's been a sudden boom in young women chopping their locks off (one girl went so far as to shave her head) and going off in the tight-knit groups that the men of the tribe have been doing so for years. My cousin is one of those aggressive, short-haired, and short-tempered young women._

_Both packs (the male and the female) seem to keep to themselves, it's almost like a cult, really. Leah Blackwater, a past member of the male pack who now hangs with the females, appears to be the leader, as well as Jacob Black, leader of the males._

_The legends of the tribe speak of skin walkers and creatures known as the "cold ones"._

_I'll be blunt, I know the secret. I know my cousin is a werewo—I mean, a skinwalker. And I know that she's…they're waiting for me. To be like them. I've always known. There was some reasoning behind my father's obsession with wolves. And that's all I can say regarding to that. But, I know. I know that the cold ones are really vampires. Ugh, if you could call them vampires. They're sparkly, pale skinned, over-dramatic, pretty boys and prima donnas that happen to drink blood and run really fast. I know that if there are werewolves and vampires (or at least a very, very, VERY weak species of vampire), then there are ghosts, fairies, witches and anything else that you can find in a cryptozoologist's textbook! I am painfully aware of everything, here and I hate the fact that I do. I hate the fact that sooner or later, I'll be another drone for Queen Leah to bitch at and I also hate the fact that I'll be pressured in cutting my hair. I will never have my period again or grow past the age I changed until I imprint, which is stupid._

_But, what can I do? I'm praying that my mother's blood will override this, but it's already too late for my brothers. They answer to Jacob now._

_Despite all of these things, nothing amazing really happens here. Forks is a logging and fishing town. In a way, it's like this gray vacuum that seems to suck up everyone and everything into this massive black hole of depression and bitterness._

_This is the story of my life, the people I know, I want to write down and explain everything before I lose my humanity. To remember that I was human and not an animal and that maybe one day, I can be a woman without having to find a need to mate and curse another generation with this. This is not a blessing, this is a curse. The others pretend that this is normal, it's not. It's not normal for a grown man or woman to instantly fall in love with a baby and wait for it to get to be age of consent so they can procreate. It's not normal to be forced to live in this hell hole forever because it's my "obligation" to protect the rez._

_I am breaking this curse, whether they like it, or not._

…..

She sat there for a few moments, silent. How long had she been typing this? The clock on her laptop read: '1:59 AM' in bold, white, text. Her hands were shaky, 2:00 AM, she began to sweat, 2:01 AM. She immediately pressed the 'off' switch on her laptop and snapped it closed, tightly, as if she were afraid that it would pop open, the offending entry forever stuck in its place.

The young teen quickly jumped under her covers, cold and she was still not used to having a room without a television acting as a makeshift nightlight. Why did she write that? It was supposed to be opening sentences of her writing assignment, "Where Do I Come From?", but then it became this long, angry rant filled with fragments and secrets that she MUST not publish publically unless she wants to be seen as a traitor (the Packs) or an escaped mental institution patient (everyone else).

Marisol's eyes squeezed open, staring up at her ceiling. In the dark, she can see patterns, squiggles of light and squares of light danced above her eyes. Was she dreaming? Was she going insane?

She was more than likely tired. "I guess I should go to sleep now. It's late, and I have school in morning." she said quietly to no one, Marisol turned on her side to face her Madlib poster, "I have school. And I'm going to act normal. And I'm not going to talk about things like Shiina Ringo or obscure video games. I have to remember that I'm fourteen and at this age, everyone thinks I'm stupid." Her heart was still heavy. To think that she would lose her humanity and her individuality, frightened her. She did not want to know that the stories were true, but she did and so there was no turning back. Maybe she should write about her last few years of being human, something for her to look back at. Would she remember her human life?

She thought of her cousin and winced. She did not want to be THAT. But it was too late, she was already given the "look" by Leah, sooner or later, it's going to happen. Whether she liked or not.

And with that, she finally fell asleep.


	2. That night

**A/N: **Second chapter, already? Don't be so surprised. I don't have a social life when the holidays roll around. Also, you know I don't own the Twilight series, right? Except maybe Marisol and a few other original characters. Don't worry, they're not mary sues, unless I really want a laugh. Again, this is an experiment, to play with writing styles and whatnot.

**Bitter Sun - 2. **That night/The talk

* * *

It cannot be said that, whether or not she was dreaming, or was expriencing this in reality. As Marisol went deeper and deeper into R.E.M sleep, the pictures of colored lights and random shapes began to diminish. Behind her eyes, she finally saw darkness for a split second. And then, as if a lone candle was lit, her entire room became illuminated with warm light. Shadows danced around her as she tried to find the source of the light; at this point, Marisol was sure that she was now awake. She heard a man's voice, but he was speaking in a language that she did not understand.

He stopped; then, more silence.

The light got brighter and began to engulf her, she sheilded her eyes, it's brightness blinding her.

"Do you understand me, now? I know of your situation. I have a solution, but it's very costly, will you accept it?" The same disembodied voice from before, was now speaking in English or maybe it allowed her to understand the language from before. All she knew, was that she was possibly going insane. Then again, she lived in a universe where vampirism existed, a floating voice was nothing.

"Not unless you show me how you look. " Marisol dared, her eyes still squeezed closed. The voice laughed, "Fine, fine, child." he said. "You know you can open your eyes now. The light is gone." She cleared her throat, "I'm not a child." she insisted while opening her eyes.

The figure before her was an older Native American man. His attire was traditional, his hair neatly braided and clean, and his face neat and smooth, despite the few wrinkles that marked his face, showing his age. His eyes were dark and showed strength, indicating that he is or rather _was_, a brave warrior and leader. "_Taha Aki_..." she said with wonderment.

He nodded. Before she was able to say anything, he motioned her to follow him immediately. No coat, no shoes, _immediately_. "Just follow me," he said in a grandfatherly manner, "You will be not harmed."

It was in the middle of October, so it would be freezing cold and wet, but to her surprise, as soon as she stepped from the porch and onto the ground, she felt nothing but warmth. Taha Aki continued on, ignoring her astonishment. As they walked she felt no fatigue, the usual pain in her knee or the locking of her muscles from a long walk was not felt. Finally, after what had felt like hours, he stopped at a clearing in the woods. "Stand here." his voice held no emotion, fearing that she would anger him, she did as he asked and stood in the middle of the clearing.

"You're denying your role as a protector of your people...is this true?" he circled her as he spoke, Marisol's body language showed her discomfort with this. Again, he ignored this, "Answer me." The way he said it, seemed to be some of sort attack. How dare _you _try to change something that has always been a part of our people for generations! What makes _you _so great and so special? Even your brothers, who share the same quantum of blood as you do jumped to the call, so you have no right to think that your status as a half-breed can save you from your duties!

And while he did not say those things, it felt as if he did. "Marisol..."

She pleaded her case, "I don't understand why I should, I-I mean I'm a weakling. I'm short, I don't do sports, unless it involves a video game controller. I can barely run; I broke my leg when I was kid and it's never been the same. Please, even with your abilities, Taha Aki, I will always fail." He stopped his circling after the first sentence, his face, while stoic, showed that he was mulling over the girl's words.

"You also fear that you will lose your independence, as well? Your humanity?" she nodded. There was some silence and then, "Do you really feel this way?" she nodded again which made him tense at what he was going to do next. "Many have tried and failed at doing this...to reverse the ability of being a spirit warrior. But it is not impossible."

Marisol perked up, "A cure?"

"No, an oath. A blood oath."

"To who?" she asked, a bit uneasy, this time, "To me. You must take a blood oath with me, promising me that you will do one hundred and eight deeds over the course of a year. If you succeed, you will live the rest of your days as a human. You will live a normal life and you can also leave the reservation whenever you want."

"And...if I fail?"

"For you, if you fail, your change will cause you to lose your soul forever and resort you into a violent, blood thirsty animal that would no likely be killed by the other warriors or, God forbid, you'll wander into Forks, becoming a murderous spectacle."

It was silent once more. Taha Aki continued, "Now, are you sure you want to do this to yourself?" her body was shaking, she had almost made it, almost won. She could be free. Thoughts of having a normal life, away from La Push, away from Forks. Happiness.

"Yes. I do." And with that, he annouced, "Brace yourself! This will hurt, but you must go through this in order to complete the pact!"

His body twitched, his breathing turned heavy and in an instant he changed into his wolf form. The lumbering creature before her, formally known as Taha Aki, began to charge. Fearing for her life, she ran in the opposite direction, but to no avail. The warmth was gone and now she felt everything. The wet, slipperiness of the ground. The familiar burning feeling in her legs and the cold, creeping chill of the air. Her skinny legs buckled underneath her, her red nightshirt and hair covered in dirt and leaves as she fell. Still, Marisol scrambled up to her knees, crying out in pain as a piece of broken glass sliced into her hand, in spite of this, she continued onto First Beach, with Taha Aki closing in on her.

She fell once more. Tired and in pain; her cut was burning now, the sand rubbing into her wound. She can hear his paw prints, he was upon her. She could feel the anger, and his shame towards her. She had ran like a coward. Marisol would not be surprised if he decided to kill her, instead. His paw went up and sliced into her side, the exertion of his paw against her small body cause her to flip over onto her back, forcing her to face him.

_The blood oath is complete..._

_The mark on your side is not only an indicator of the oath, it will also sting to indicate a deed is nearby..._

_You have an entire year..._

_You are in my prayers, child..._

Everything around her appeared to melt into darkness. Taha Aki's bright eyes seemed to appear as if he were crying, even if he was in his wolf form. The dark had finally swallowed her vision whole, lulling her back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sun was too bright, peeking out of her blinds and shining into her face. Her lips were chapped. And she woke up in her bedroom. Not on First Beach on a bed of cold sand, but her small, warm twin bed with the blue and white designs that were supposed to indicate stars, but looked more like flowers. She felt her left hand; no cut. Marisol winced, her side hurt like hell. Pulling her shirt up, she examined the twin marks under her right breast. Not to long after did the marks begin to burn. She groaned, "Already? This deed better be made at school."


	3. AlieNation

**A/N: **You know, at this point, a lot of people would stop writing and give up. Me? I honestly don't give two shits. Like I said, this is an experiment and what not, flames are really not necessary, but if you really have to, do it. Like the last two, nothing really happens in this chapter. The next one is where the real action starts. Critique's encouraged, because I'm pretty sure my writing leaves much to be desired. Enjoy or not, I don't care.

**Bitter Sun - 3. **Alien Nation

* * *

On the edge of Forks, outside of the rest of town and far, far away from La Push, lies a small home; a cottage, actually. It was modest in its form and was painted over with a light, salmon coloring. It was rectangular in its shape and faced the lake on a wooden patio built with stilts which would creek and croak at each step. The lake front property used to belong to a woman of the Makah nation who built the home with her husband during the thirties. When she finally died, her grandchildren all split what was left in her in will and gave the home to the youngest of her grandchildren; a Mr. Johnathan Gilchrist, who promptly sold it to its present owner.

It's still early in the morning; the sky is a big puddle of navy blue with pink and orange peeking through the horizon. The stars were fading while the moon had since disappeared from sight.

The door opens, revealing a figure that is followed by two cats; one, a full figured, cream colored Persian, and the other a slim Siamese with blue eyes and a crooked tail. On the patio lies a basket with no note or any sign of previous ownership and a tiny bundle wrapped in cloth. The cats approach the basket, mewing and pawing to see what's inside. The bundle stirs, revealing itself to be a small dog covered in a large amount of shaggy, black and white fur. Judging from its stature and eagerness to play with the cats and their owner, it was more than likely a puppy of only a few months in age.

"Well, well..." the owner, a woman, said as she scooped the little one into her arms, "It seems that you belong to me, now." the puppy replied in sneezing on, sniffing, and then finally, licking its new owner's face. "Sasha, Mercedes, it seems that we have a new member in our family." she said as she opened the door, allowing the cats inside before entering herself with their unexpected guest "Make him, or her, feel very welcome. "

* * *

I'm pretty sure last night wasn't a dream. I basically sold my soul, but instead of the devil, I got Taha Aki. Then again, it could be the devil posing as Taha Aki. My head hurts and my mouth is dry. And there's a burning sensation in that huge scar he gave me, I know this is not a dream.

I know I'm not going crazy.

* * *

"Is there any bacon left?"

"Oh, Marisol, I almost forgot! I'm sorry, sweetie, no, I'm afraid not. Would like some cheese toast, instead? Eggs? Here. I packed you a lunch for school; there's some cheese toast and ham in there, so, you eat it on your walk to the Tribal School."

"Thanks, auntie Irene. I love you"

"I love you, too, Mari."

Her aunt had forgotten, for the third time this month, actually, to fry enough bacon for the entire household. And it wasn't her entire fault, either. The appetites of her brothers, five other cousins, and her fisherman uncle would drive them to take seconds or thirds; depending on how much she's fried. Marisol, having finally gotten used to this, simply shrugged it off.

Marisol was the type of person that simply dealt with things like that. She never felt like she had to complain or sigh and pout to get her way, even if she was the youngest person in the household. She checked the small makeup mirror her aunt had bought her the month before. What stared back was a teen girl with bright brown skin and too full lips. She wore no make up, the bags under her dark brown eyes were a tell-tale sign. Her nose was flat while her eyebrows settled on her forehead, thick and neatly trimmed. Her hair met her shoulder's in an almost stick straight position (her aunt had her hair treated the night before) with a large, swooped bang that was held back with a hairclip that appeared to be shaped like an octopus tentacle (it was a gift from her friend, Ezra, of whom will be introduced later on). She smoothed down the solid black turtle neck and red pleated skirt her aunt bought for her (which would soon be traded in for a t-shirt and jeans she hid in her book bag) and placed the makeup mirror back in its designated place in her bag. After lacing up her sneakers, she finally slipped on her rain boots and left off of the wooden front porch of her home,

Her side was still tingling.

* * *

The Quileute Tribal School is a kindergarten through high school institution that along with the usual, state ordained courses of math, science, literature/English, and a number of electives (band, art, etc.) they also teach students tribal language, culture, and traditions. Besides the Quileute, the Hoh, Makah, Ponca, S'Klallam, Blackfeet, Quinault, Shosone Bannock, Yakima and many other tribal reservations and bands enroll their children in this school for them to find an identity within their culture.

_"QTS is to be a positive place to learn, grow and develop into a productive citizen with the skills needed for an ever changing world and society." - Quileute Tribal School Vision Statement_

Bullshit.

No school is perfect, and QTS is definitely far from it. The food is terrible, which is why a lot of students (including Marisol) either leave for lunch or bring their own food. The education is either sub-par or just plain horrible depending on who one asks. And the kicker? None of the kids socialize with kids from neighboring tribes. The Quileute kids hang out with Quileute kids, the Poncas hang out with Poncas, the Hoh refuse to sit at a table with a Makah and the Blackfoot? Nobody wants to be around the Blackfeet kids, not even other Blackfeet kids.

At QTS, the status quo is God. And when someone challenges or speaks against that god, they'd have to answer to hos congregation.

"Hey, half-breed!" ignoring this, Marisol continued on her route to school. She was really only a few steps away and had no desire in paying attention to her heckler. She knew who it was, of course, Twyla Henke. Twyla Henke was a grade ahead of Marisol, an nu metal fan, and an average, normal student when it came to academics.

She is also a raging bitch.

Marisol had encountered her during the beginning of school, by accident, really. At first, she thought the girl was normal. Another character placed in the background of classroom and cafeteria scenes.

She was wrong.

"Half-breed!" her cries became louder and much closer. Still, she was ignored. Marisol was at the door, followed by a few other students. She felt a sharp fist hit her in the back and she fell forward into the doorway. A few other students were snickering, along with Twyla and her lackeys, while the others simply walked over her. Lifting herself up, Marisol tried to think up a way to get out of this situation.

"Twyla? Twyla Marie Henke, you be ashamed! All of you!" it was the principal.

"Daddy?"

Twyla panicked as she scrambled to help Marisol up. "Don't even try to cover it up this time, young lady. Honestly, I used to teach you kids in Sunday School. I know _all_ of your parents, and I'm pretty both me and your mother would like to have a word with you, Miss Henke. Until then, all of you, go to class. Except _you_."

As quick as they had attacked her, they speed walked away from her and Principal Henke. As she stood there, she couldn't help but notice how small she was compared to him. He was a tall, Quileute man of at least six feet and a few odd inches. He was slightly hefty after years of marriage and some excess, but he still carried himself as a tamed alpha male. His long hair was tied back in a braid and his face was sharp and tight with some wrinkles that indicated age (it was calculated that he was at least in his late forties or early fifties). His lips were thick and stony looking and his eyes shone brightly with a gaze that could slice her right in half. His thick eyebrows sat above his eyes in a stern, straight manner and his nose flared as he spoke, "Marisol Drinkwater, I know it's hard to adjust to life after the death of your parents, " he wore a business shirt and gray slacks that pinpointed his position as the head of the school, "But it's time to move on." she began to sniffle, not because of sadness, but because of his strong cologne. Seeing this, he put an arm around her shoulder and buried her face into his chest. She sniffled even more.

"There, there, honey. I know it's hard, but you have to move and let them go. You can't just let these kids do this to you anymore. I used to know your dad, great guy, I'm pretty sure he'd hate to see his kid, especially his baby daughter, treated like this." He let her go, "Go on. Get to class, you don't want to be late for that presentation, now, do ya?" she nodded, being somewhat perplexed by his kindness. She finally left him behind, his figure being the only thing left standing in the hall. And soon, he left for work as well.

Her side, once a small, bearable, tingling. Became a strong, stabbing feeling on her abdomen. Whatever it the cause of it, she was close to it. Too close.


End file.
